


The Black Bird, The Wolf and the Spin Doctor

by fickle_fics



Category: Being Human (UK), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen, grey white
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickle_fics/pseuds/fickle_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things aren't going well for the Department of Domestic Defence, not only is Rook going to lose the only thing he has, but the world's probably going to taken over by monsters. Unless he can kind find a way to prove just how dangerous vampires, werewolves and ghosts are. Luckily he has a plan, he just needs someone to help it happen, an old, not exactly, friend he knew when things were going better for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The File

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I have a pretty major thing for writing Grey and Malc in as many ways as I can possibly can, plus a strange thing for automatically wanting to involve Malcolm in supernatural canon's politics the moment they're overtly mentioned. Plus Grey makes a wonderful werewolf.
> 
> Also I'm posting this in chapters to force myself to actually finish something with plot and longer and not just smut, though there will smut eventually, it's already written.

**Prologue**

 

To: Malcolm Tucker   
From: Dominic Rook

Dear Mr Tucker,

Whilst I’m sure you are less than happy to be hearing from me again I urge you to at least read what I have to say before you do anything rash.

As I am sure you are well aware things are not going terribly well budget wise with the new government. What you may be surprised to hear is that we at the Department for Domestic Defence are currently being dissolved. Now you are a smart man, I’m sure you know just how grave a situation this is without me having to spell it our for you. Quite honestly I require your help, your expertise in getting people to do what you want. While I am well aware that you no longer have any political influence (terrible business by the way, but at least you were acquitted) there is someone not connected to any of the parties whom I think may be able to help us, given the correct push.

I will be in London on the 5th to see the Home Secretary, to once again plead for the continued existence of a department that keeps the whole of Great Britain safe. If you’re still based there I would very much like to arrange a meeting to discuss this matter privately.

Please, Malcolm. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but you remember the good work we did when your old party was in power. Everyone’s safety depends on it.

Kindest regards

Dominic Rook 

Permanent Secretary of the DoDD

 

To: Dominic Rook  
From Malcolm Tucker 

Dear Mr Rook,

Fuck off, you massive fucking sociopathic come stain. 

Not my problem.

Worst regards

Malcolm Tucker.

 

From: Dominic Rook  
To: Malcolm Tucker 

Dear Mr Tucker

With all due respect this is _everyone’s_ problem. If we’re dissolved the “people” we deal with will run amok. Just think about what that will mean for everyone. Type 2s fighting Type 3s in the street and the police won’t be able to do anything. Not even the army will be able to stop them.

They will take over if we let this happen. All I want you to do is talk to someone for me. I assure you you will be in no danger.

Kindest regards

Dominic Rook  
Permanent Secretary for DoDD

 

From: Malcolm Tucker   
To: Dominic Rook

Rook,

Ask Pearson. 

Malcolm.

 

From: Dominic Rook  
To: Malcolm Tucker 

Dear Mr Tucker

Sadly Mr Pearson is very much not the man for the job. Ignoring for a moment his loyalty to his party I do not believe his style will mesh well with the person I wish you to speak with.

A meeting. That’s all I ask.

Kindest regards

Dominic Rook  
Permanent Secretary for DoDD

From: Malcolm Tucker   
To: Dominic Rook

8pm on the 4th. You can take me out for dinner, somewhere really fucking expensive. Call it a gesture of goodwill.

 

From: Dominic Rook  
To: Malcolm Tucker 

Dear Mr Tucker

Very well. I will however need to speak to you in private afterwards. As I’m sure you appreciate I am unable to discuss department matters in public.

Kindest regards

Dominic Rook  
Permanent Secretary for DoDD

 

From: Malcolm Tucker   
To: Dominic Rook

You trying to get me into your hotel room? I always did wonder about you.

 

**The File**

 

Malcolm sat in the only chair in the Travelodge hotel room Rook was staying in, the other man on the sofa, a file beside him.

“Have to say I’m a bit disappointed, thought you’d be staying somewhere a bit more impressive,” he said, looking around.

“Yes well, the department doesn’t really have the funds it once did. I had to cut corners to meet your demands.”

“My demands?” Malcolm scoffed, “You make me sound like a fucking terrorist, anyway as much as I enjoy your company can you just tell me what the fuck this is about so I can be on my way?”

Silently Rook reached for the file and handed it over.

“You want me to read the first draft of some terrible supernatural based romance? You could’ve just emailed it, you know?”

Rook’s face was still blank, not the slightest hint of amusement or even annoyance on his face. “Just open it, Mr Tucker.”

Eyeing him warily Malcolm did as he said. 

There was a photograph stapled to the very first page - a close up of a woman, young, pretty with short blonde, messy hair smiling while flipping the bird. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Think you might’ve given me the wrong folder, this looks like it might be for a dating agency.”

“She’s a monster,” Rook told him.

“Hey she might’ve over done the eyeliner a bit, but a monster’s a bit harsh. Emo’s have feelings too.”

“Don’t be taken in by appearances, Mr Tucker. Ms White there’s a type 3. Incredibly dangerous, even when it isn’t a full moon. May I?” he asked, reaching to take the folder off him, looking through it to find more illustrative photos. Folding down the corners he handed it back. “I suggest you look again.”

With a wary eye roll Malcolm looked at the photos. The first one showed the same woman, a longer shot, big black boots beneath tight black jeans kicking out wildly, but the most noticeable thing was her expression, she was positively snarling, that blonde hair half covering her face as she twisted violently in someone’s hold. 

Malcolm already liked her. She looked like the type of girl that’d do well in a Glasgow pub brawl.

“It took three men to bring her in.” Rook said.

Malcolm looked up from the photo to Rook, a disgusted sneer on his face. “Aye well I expect it’d take three fucking men to bring me in if I hadn’t done anything.”

“They must be contained, Mr Tucker, her kind are terribly dangerous during the full moon.”

“Her kind? Hot emo chicks, yeah I see your point.”

“She’s a type 3, Mr Tucker.”

“One day a fucking month. Jesus show me a woman that isn’t fucking lethal once a month!”

“Look at her,” he suggested, “the other page. Look at what she becomes.”

Malcolm sat up straighter. He hated this, being forced to acknowledge the existence of supernatural creatures. He really wasn’t cut out for this. He’d just wanted to make the country a better place. He’d had no idea exactly what it was the country was hiding when he’d joined the party. Slowly he turned the page, and there it was - the last picture. Her in a cage. Well presumably her. It was a creature, hairy and lean,with deep brown eyes, that seemed somehow human and sharp teeth and claws exposed as she threw herself at the bars,. He wanted to close his eyes against the image, but he wasn’t willing to let Rook see the effect it had on him. He wouldn’t show weakness in front of that little prick. Instead he looked to him, hatred barely hidden in his eyes.

“What’s this got to do with me?”

“She doesn’t get on well with our staff,” Rook admitted carefully.

“Well you’ve got her fucking caged, course she doesn’t.”

“Oh she’s no longer with us, sadly. There was an…incident.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but smile. She’d got away. The angry little thing had got away from these bastards. Good for her. 

“There was a blackout, she escaped.”

Malcolm didn’t say anything for a moment, but he couldn’t quite help himself. “How many men did she take down that time?” he asked, amusement clear in both his tone and eyes.

“A number.”

“And again what the fuck has this got to do with me?” he said, managing to push down his approval for this woman.

“We need her on our side.”

Malcolm scoffed.

“We need you to _get_ her on our side.”

“I’m not even on your side, mate. Why the fuck are you asking me?”

Rook didn’t respond. Truth was Malcolm was the only person he had to turn to. It probably wouldn’t work but it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

“We felt she’d respond well to you. Mr Tucker, you know how needed the department is. If they find out about what’s out there... You want what’s best for your country, don’t you? Just look at it that way. You’re keeping them safe in their ignorance.”

“So I just have to convince her helping you’s a good idea?”

“Exactly.”

“Where do I find her?”

“Take the file. It’s all there.” 

“Just one more thing,” he said, “you said in your email I wouldn’t be in any danger, but you’ve spent most of the time since I’ve been here telling me she’s a monster and she’s attacked your employees, so basically - why the fuck should I put myself at risk for you?”

“We don’t believe she’ll hurt you, since you’re not one of us.”

“You don’t _believe_ , oh well that makes it okay then, if you don’t fucking _believe_ she’ll hurt me. You’re really not very reassuring, you know?”

“Mr Tucker, you always had a certain reputation for doing what needed to be for the good of the country. Surely you can see that this _needs_ to be done.”

“Aye, but why me?”

“Because quite simply - you’re the only person I could possibly ask.”

Malcolm sighed heavily, tucking the file beneath his arm. “Leave it with me, I’ll phone you tomorrow,” he said standing to leave the room..

 

Back at home Malcolm poured himself a whiskey as he settled down on the sofa to look through the file he’d been given. He’d taken up drinking properly when he’d left politics, it had seemed a good way to get through things without having to resort to seeing a counsellor or taking pills.. He’d never drunk when he’d been working, but as he reminded himself this wasn’t exactly work, and he was pretty certain he was going to need at least a couple to get through this.

The first few pages were incredibly dull - details about her next of kin and her statistics, as if her having an ankh tattoo on her hip was of any importance to anyone or any _thing_. Then there was an overly detailed background on her before she’d been turned. Good student all the way through to university where she’d studied media, a number of run ins with the law at protests, along with a few black and white photos from newspapers with her circled in the crowd with red pen. Then there were copies of police paperwork about how she’d spent a night in the cells and spent the whole time ragging about the injustice. She seemed a lot like she’d have been a mild annoyance in his previous life, protesting about cuts, and for equal rights. Still she had passion and beliefs, not enough people seemed to have those nowadays. After that was page upon page written up by members of the Department of Domestic Defense along with a photo of her with a man, skinny and long haired, the kind of hipster prick Malcolm instantly hated largly because he was wearing a waistcoat. It seemed they’d been following her and her boyfriend for a while, keeping an eye on them before they’d chosen the right time to take them in. After that there were daily reports that Malcolm only skimmed through. They all seemed pretty much the same - lots of swearing, threats, demands to at least be locked up with her boyfriend - Lex. 

It was all too much to go through in one night, but Malcolm had a strange urge to meet her, at least, to see what she was really like. It had been so long since he’d had anything interesting to do the thought of going to Manchester to meet an angry werewolf seemed like it might actually be a good idea, especially if she thought Rook was a cunt. If nothing else they could bond over that.


	2. The meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm finally meets the infamous Grey, who is nothing like he imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has taken me way over a year to post since the last chapter, because I am useless and very bad at writing long chaptered fic.
> 
> On the plus side the next one probably won't take anywhere near as long!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Comments and feedback always more than welcome.

“I’ll do it,” Malcolm said the moment Rook picked up the phone. “I’ll go and see this girl of yours.”

“How many times must I tell you, Mr Tucker, she is not a girl. She’s a monster.”

“Girl, monster, whatever I’ll go to fucking _Manchester_ to have a word, so now will you tell me what I’m actually supposed to be getting her to do for you?”

Malcolm moved from the centre of his bedroom to sit heavily on the bed as Rook began to speak, to explain what exactly it was Malcolm was supposed to do. No wonder he hadn’t told him when they’d been in person because Malcolm would have nutted the cunt. As it was all he could do was sit and listen as the words entered his head and circled round repeatedly, not quite believing what Rook was saying, so calmly, like it was nothing.

“I take it you’ll be _paying_ for my travel and everything else involved?” he asked, unable to even address what Rook had told him.

Rook laughed and it made Malcolm want to _hurt_ him. “Mr Tucker, we can barely afford to pay for our electric. We had hoped perhaps you could pay for now, keep your receipts. We’ll be sure to reimburse you at a later date.”

Malcolm didn’t even care anymore, he didn’t even know why he’d asked. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it. All he really cared about was getting to Manchester, meeting this woman. Seeing what she was like. Seeing why Rook had decided she should be the one to do this terrible thing. Trying to warn her about what Rook had in mind, Christ seeing if he could try and help her, because it really seemed like she could do with _someone_ on her side. “Right, fine, whatever,” he sighed. “I’ll contact you, okay? I don’t want to fucking hear from you again, unless I initiate it, right?” 

“I would appreciate if if you’d keep me in the loop, Mr Tucker. I will need to know how you’re getting on. And of course if anything _were_ to happen…”

“I’ll text you everyday at ten so you know she hasn’t ripped my fucking throat out, how’s that?” he offered. “But I meant what I said I don’t want to see your name flashing up on my phone whether it’s a text, an email, of a fucking dick pic. I’m in charge now. You’ll be hearing from me when I’ve got something to say to you.”

Before Rook could even answer Malcolm hung up the phone and threw it down on his bed, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. What the fuck had he agreed to? And more importantly why had he agreed to it? God he was stupid when he was bored.

 

The plus side to no longer being involved in politics was that Malcolm could now travel first class, which admittedly still wasn’t great when you were on a train to Manchester surrounded by business men talking too loudly about meetings on golf courses, but at least he could actually move his legs, although that thought only made him want to kick or trip a few people as they passed. Still being surrounded by annoying men in suits was a fairly welcome distraction from what he was on his way to, and from what Rook had said. The less he thought about all that the better. There was a hell of a lot Malcolm would do for this country, he just wasn’t convinced this didn’t leap over the line even he refused to pass.

And now here he was, outside the block of flats, Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered with the suit. actually he was sure he shouldn’t have, he couldn’t have looked more conspicuous if he tried. This was not a nice place, but what did he expect? It probably wasn’t too easy finding decent accommodation when you were a werewolf.

The lift he got into was covered in graffiti, mostly just random shapes and tags, nothing even remotely witty or even abusive much to his disappointment, he wouldn’t have minded something to read on the way up to her floor. It didn’t smell like piss though, so perhaps the place wasn’t quite as bad as it seemed.

When the lift pinged on the fifth floor Malcolm got out, double checking the number of her flat on his floor as he strode over. The is was it. No turning back now. Maybe he’d get lucky. maybe she’d have already moved on. This didn’t exactly seem like the kind of place anyone would want to settle down in. The funny thing was though he wanted to meet her. He still didn’t know quite whose side he was on beyond his own, but he figured he’d work that out later.

 

“A little black bird sent me, said you might be able to help with a little problem he’s having..”

The knife was at his throat before Malcolm could even take a breath.

“You tell Rook he sends one more _fucking_ lackey after me and I’ll make him very, very sorry.”

Malcolm raised his hands to protest his innocence, eyeing the knife warily. He really wasn’t cut out for this. Oh he was used to dealing with psychopathic liars, but they didn’t normally pull weapons on him, not even Jamie had ever done that. Well okay, but he’d never pulled a _knife_ on him.

“Whoa there, darling, it’s not like that. I’m here to help. Call me your fairy fucking godfather. And could you…” he somehow managed to gesture using only his eyes and before he knew it he was yanked roughly into the dark hallway of her flat, the door slamming behind them.

“You don’t mention that bastard’s name in my house,” she said as she locked the door, and leant back against it, her heart pounding in her ears..

“Aye, okay, okay, sorry. He did mention you weren’t exactly the _best_ of friends.”

“He’s been trying to lock me up for the last five years, so yeah you could say that.”

“He also mentioned you had a habit of getting away. Slippery was the word he used. We need that, with everything that’s happening.”

“ _We_?” she said, brandishing the knife again. “You’re wearing a fucking grey suit. You’re one of them. Get out before I do something that’s going to take me all night to clean up.”

Malcolm was much more used to being on the other end when it came to threats, and while at the time he’d always meant them, he’d known he wouldn’t _actually_ rip someone’s spine out of their body, with the woman in front of him he wasn’t quite so sure. Maybe Rook was right. He knew nothing about this woman other than what Rook had told him, which he hadn’t really believed, but he was starting think maybe it was all true. Maybe she was _really_ dangerous, wolf or not. And he’d come here on his own to talk to her? What the hell was wrong with him?

“I promise you I’m not one of those DoDD pricks, I just happen to like grey, it’s a good colour on me, don’t you think?”

She glared at him. 

“So who’s this ‘we’ you mentioned then?” She didn’t trust him, not a moment, she had no idea why she’d even let him, but she was bored and lonely, and honestly she was kind of in the mood for a fight, a purpose even, because right now her existence was utter shit.

“All of us, the whole fucking country, the whole fucking _world_. If the knowledge about the monsters under the bed being fucking _real_ gets out, even if it’s only visible here the whole world’s going to start freaking out.”

“Why the fuck would I help?” she asked, moving past him into the front room, curling up on the sofa, glass of vodka in one hand, knife in the other. 

Malcolm followed her reluctantly. She didn’t look much like the photo in her file. She looked gaunt and tired, and kind of dirty, like she hadn’t showered in at least a week, and she seemed more than a little on edge, not that he could blame her. She was right, she was lucky not to be locked up in Rook’s containment facility, no wonder she’d pulled a knife on him at the mention of Rook. It had to be exhausting knowing she couldn’t just walk down the street, do what she wanted, because she was on some register as a monster.

“Because sitting back and letting it happen isn’t really your style, is it, darling?” he asked standing in the doorway, looking down at her. She looked even more pathetic now, curled up around herself protectively, holding a knife like some kind of paranoia case. Only she wasn’t being paranoid, was she? People really were out to get her, and he was one of them, maybe. “I saw the newspaper clippings, very impressive.”

“There are some things you can’t protest about, why do you think Rook’s so keen on shutting me up? I‘m the fucking enemy, remember? I’m _volatile_.”

“Well that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s too late. Everything’s already coming out into the open, and all because the fucking Tories want to save a few quid.”

She laughed bitterly at that. “It’s funny, I thought they were fucking the country before, Christ if I’d seen this coming…” She gestured for him to come into the room, moved to the other end of the sofa so he could sit down. She was pretty sure she wasn’t in any danger from him, not right now at least. He was old, she was probably faster and stronger than him, not to mention she was armed, so what did she have to lose really?

“Yeah? What would you have done?” he asked, leaning closer to her. He wanted to hear her ideas, because she really didn’t seem like the woman Rook had talked about right now. She seemed lost and broken. Defeated, that was the word. It was difficult to believe she had any fire in her at all, apart from the fact she’d had a knife to his throat a minute or two ago.

“I don’t know just fucking… _something_ ,” she sighed. Killed herself, maybe, especially once Lex had gone, because what was the point now? She didn’t have a life anymore, all she had was this crappy little flat and a fear of leaving it in case one of Rook’s lot came for her and yet she couldn’t just give up. It would have been easy to accept her fate. To just go quietly. She’d have had a roof over her head, three half way decent meals a day, no money worries. Only she couldn’t, every time they’d taken her in and she’d tried to just accept it her brain and body had screamed at her about how _wrong_ the whole thing was on so many different levels - keeping people caged up like fucking animals? She hadn’t even done anything wrong, she wasn’t a killer. And so instead she’d screamed and raged and smashed things up, and yeah hurt quite a few people, but never anything permanent, never anything _fatal_. She wasn’t a monster no matter how intent they seemed on turning her into one.

Finally she looked at the man that had appeared on her doorstep properly for the first time. The room was dim, the curtains closed because she didn’t much like the sunlight, but she was sure she’d seen him before. It just took her a second to place him.

“You’re Malcolm Tucker,” she said incredulously. “I remember you from the news. I remember your resignation.”

Malcolm shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The knife at his throat had been one thing, this was something else entirely. Of course she was politically aware, she went to protests and rallied against the government. Of course she knew who he was, why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Which one?” he asked.

“Well both actually, but I meant the proper one, the one that stuck. For the record I don’t give a fuck if you did it. Anything to take those Tory cunts down. I can’t even work out how they got into power. You really fucked up, letting that happen, didn’t you?”

Malcolm sighed. The majority of the last few years had been him trying not to think about all that. How they’d lost power, just as they’d known they would. But he knew how she felt, he still couldn’t work out why anyone would want the Tories more than them, regardless of how shit they were.

“I blame the fucking Lib Dems for joining them,” he said. “Never would’ve happened otherwise.”

Grey almost laughed, only she too angry to really find any of this funny. “Yeah, me too actually. I mean...fucks sake it’s like Mandella joining the fucking BNP.” She shook her head. “I’ve never met anyone famous before.”

“I don’t think I count as famous, darling.”

“You count as famous more than those reality TV cunts,” she said, “least you’ve actually _done_ something.” 

“Listen, Grace-”

“Don’t call me that. I fucking _hate_ that name. It’s such a misnomer it isn’t even funny.”

“Okay, so what would you rather me call you?”

“Grey. My name’s Grey”

Malcolm tried and failed not the smirk as he looked at her, reminding himself the knife was still in front of her. “So...your name’s Grey White?” he asked, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Don’t fucking start okay. Yeah I know, but what am I gonna do? It’s my fucking surname,”

“Not go by a name that’s also a colour?” he suggested carefully.

“Look it’s my fucking name, okay? If you find it so fucking hilarious you can just fuck off and tell Rook I refused to talk to you, right?”

“Right, right sorry,” Malcolm said raising his hands. “Seriously though…”

Grey glared at him. She seemed to be rather good at the old death glare, he was sure she could turn weaker men into gibbering wrecks with it. “Pissed off werewolf with a fucking knife,” she reminded him.

“Have you considered Ace?” 

“I swear to god if you don’t drop this I will stab you in the face. Also you’re suggesting that like it isn’t a fucking stupid name as well!”

“You admit Grey White’s a stupid name then?” he asked. He’d never had much of a sense of self-preservation, hence going into politics. And being here right now, thinking about it.

Slowly Grey leant forward and grabbed the knife from the coffee table.

“Change of subject?” Malcolm suggested, pressing himself subtly back in his seat. “So, I assume you know why he sent me?”

“Because I told him if I ever saw him again I’d rip his throat out with my teeth, whether it was a full moon or not?” she replied perfectly casually.

“That wasn’t _quite_ the wording he used.”

Grey sighed. “He’s been bombarding me with emails and phonecalls for weeks, I guess he thinks I can’t ignore an actual person.” She turned her head to look at Malcolm dead on. “I can.”

“You let me in,” he pointed out. It hadn’t really occurred to him until now she could have refused. He really hadn’t planned any of this particularly well, and it wasn’t as if he had his charm to fall back on.

The truth was she was lonely, achingly, depressingly lonely. And really this didn’t make it better, this wasn’t what she needed, what she _wanted_ even, but it was slightly better than drinking herself to sleep yet again. It was almost like human contact, it was just a shame he had something to do with Rook.

“A moment of madness.”

“You know they’ll close the department if you don’t help them, don’t you?.” 

“Good.,” she said, grabbing her glass and sipping her vodka, avoiding looking at him again.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?”

“Do you really think the world’s going to be a better place without people to clean up the mess the less stable of your kind make?”

“My kind?” she spat, pointing at him with the knife. “Like your fucking _kind_ are so great?”

Malcolm shuffled back a little. So much for not being in any danger, but then he‘d never really believed Rook when he‘d said that, perhaps he just didn’t care all that much anymore. “Aye, I see your point, but it’s different, isn’t it? People being evil fuckers is something we sort of…accept. We have ways of dealing with it, you know law, justice, the police. They can’t deal with the supernatural. But that’s not even what it is. We _know_ murderers and rapists exist. Most people don’t know about the other stuff, and they don’t want to. It’s all fiction to them. And that’s how it needs to stay.”

“What is it they say? Ignorance is bliss?” she laughed again, then put the knife down on the table at the side of the sofa, much to Malcolm’s relief. “Must be nice, not knowing about the fucking monsters out there. Not having your whole fucking world turned upside down, because as it turns out Rook’s fucking department doesn’t actually protect people nearly as well it claims to. It didn’t protect Lex, and it didn’t protect me!” She took another drink, very carefully not looking at him. “Oh no, wait. We’re not people are we? We’re _monsters_. We’re the ones they need to be protected _from_. Ironic that a monster’s the only one that can save his fucking department then. And fuck knows why he thinks I’ll do it after everything he’s done to me.”

Lex - the wanker in the waistcoat. He probably shouldn’t think of him like that, what was it about not speaking ill of the dead?

“Your boyfriend?” Malcolm asked carefully, his eyes on the knife on the table, just in case she went for it again.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I won’t.” Slowly she stood up, her glass still in her head, she walked over to the door without looking at Malcolm but paused in the doorway. “Will you excuse me a second?” she asked just before she left him all alone in her living room.

She never should have said his name. It was like picking at a scab just as it was starting to heal. And now here she was with her back against her bedroom door taking slow, deep breaths trying not to burst into tears because Grey White DId. Not. Cry. It was both a rule and a fact, or at least it had been once upon a time, before her boyfriend had died, no not died, been killed, murdered really. Now it was a rule. One she wasn’t all that good at keeping like the one she’d had years ago about drinking less and exercising more. Now the rule had been honed to ‘Grey White does not cry in front of people.’ one she’d be fucked if she failed on. It was quite an easy rule to follow really, on account of her never actually seeing people to cry in front _of_. But she’d drunk too much vodka to really be in full control of herself. She hadn’t been expecting company. She _never_ expected company. It should have been fine, she should have been safe, but right now all she was aware of was the tightness in her jaw and the tears blurring her vision.

She needed to go back out there. To ask Malcolm to leave, to tell him now really wasn’t a good time though admittedly there would never be a good time for any of this. She didn’t want to talk about Rook and his fucking emails. She just wanted to forget about that part of her life until she had no option but to acknowledge it. Then she’d lock herself in a cage and listen as her own bones cracked and reformed. But until then she just wanted to pretend she was normal, a normal borderline alcoholic shut in, it wasn’t too much to ask was it?

Trying to pull herself back together enough to actually be able to go back out there Grey heard the click of her key in the lock of the front door and froze, listening out. Was someone else waiting? Was Malcolm letting them in now so they could take her to Rook? Torture her into doing what they wanted? Well if that was going to happen she was going kicking and screaming, just like every other time they‘d done it. She listened carefully as she heard the door open and close and then there was silence. Drying her eyes with the back of her hand to clear her vision Grey pulled on her boots and opened the door to her bedroom slowly, ready to make a run for it and hopefully fuck up one or two of them on the way out.

There was no one there.

In the living room she found a note on the table beside her knife.

_I’m coming back in a couple of days. Think about what you want to do. If you want to speak to me before then here’s my number._

_Malcolm_

 

Malcolm was already on the phone to Rook as he walked down the road to hail a cab.

“You think _she’s_ your brilliant secret weapon?” he asked the moment Rook answered. “Only I’ve just left her shut in her bedroom fucking _crying_. You’ve broken her, you know that, don’t you? The girl’s a fucking _wreck_.”

“It wasn’t us that broke her. I’m assuming you’ve read the _whole_ file, Mr Tucker?” Rook replied calmly.

“Course I have!” Malcolm lied.

“The part about her so called boyfriend? About what happened to him?”

“Maybe that page fell out.” he offered. He wasn’t about to admit he’d only skimmed through most of it, he didn’t want Rook thinking he knew things Malcolm himself didn’t.

“Dog fight, terrible business, really. She hasn’t been _quite_ the same since. I thought you were good at inspiring people though, Mr Tucker. We had hoped you’d be able to remind her of that fighting spirit she once had, before the vodka took over.”

Malcolm realised he probably should have read the _whole_ file before he’d just run head long into this, but that had never been his job, That had been what Sam did, read all the boring long winded stuff and condensed it down into the important facts, like the fact the werewolf was apparently also a grieving borderline alcoholic.

“She may not be _quite_ the fiery creature she once was, but it’s still in there, trust me. We’ve taken her in a couple of times since the...incident with this man. She’s still as aggressive and foul mouthed as ever. That spark’s still there, she just needs a bit more to turn it into a flame nowadays. We’re confident you’re the man that can do that. Don’t disappoint us, Mr Tucker.”

“Don’t fucking-” Malcolm was cut off as Rook hung up on him. “Weasley English _prick_ ,” he muttered to himself. Don’t disappoint them? He was the one doing them a fucking favour here, couldn’t Rook at least _try_ to sound appreciative?


End file.
